


Blades of Zombora

by GeniusCactus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 19:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13220100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeniusCactus/pseuds/GeniusCactus
Summary: Thanks to the fearless Blades of Zombora (Boz), the citizens of Voltropolis are now able to roam the streets whenever and wherever they please. It’s become all too easy to fall into a false sense of security, however, and one fateful night, things take a turn for the worst when a top BoZ officer lets down his guard, falling victim to the zombie’s tricks.





	Blades of Zombora

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morie_mordant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morie_mordant/gifts).



> [ Sheith Secret Santa ](https://sheithsecretsanta.tumblr.com%20) gift for Morie. I decided to go with the zombie AU (even though I’ve never written anything even remotely to do with zombies >.<). I really had fun with this! I hope you enjoy it. Happy (almost) 2018 :)

The city of Voltropolis never sleeps. At all hours of the night various fluorescent hues illuminate the streets. People flock to every corner of the city; their raucous drunken laughter reverberating with every step. And, of course, the night wouldn’t be complete without at least one zombie raid. Some might argue threat of a zombie raid is reason enough to stay in, but, for the more adventurous types, zombie raids are simply another aspect of the nightlife thrill.

It’s true, when proper precautions are taken there’s virtually no risk of zombification. Stay indoors, wear long sleeves, eat lots of spicy foods (because zombies can’t stand the heat), and most importantly DO NOT interact. Gone are the days where humans would cower away from zombie hoards in terror. The tides have turned.

Thanks to the tireless work of the Blades of Zombora, zombification has dropped from the leading cause of death to a more modest 5th place. Voltropolis’ citizens are now free to lead the types of blissful carefree lives they could previously only dream of. But, with zombie raids on the decline, it’s become all too easy to fall into a false sense of security and forget the imminent danger looming around the corner.

 *

The engine of Keith’s motorbike roars as they buzz in and out of the traffic lanes. Shiro lets his head droop down to Keith’s shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of Keith’s pulse; a strong unwavering beat filled with determination and adrenaline. He treasures these simple moments alone with Keith. Sometimes he catches his mind drifting, wondering if Keith feels that same excited rush of electricity every time they touch. Or, if he also likes to imagine they’re not on their way to fight a horde of zombies, but zooming off somewhere else entirely.

There’s this unspoken tension between the two of them. A good tension, the kind where, even though they’ve been partners for over 6 months, Shiro can’t help but smile every time he sees him. The kind where Shiro gets butterflies in his stomach every time they touch. Still, Shiro tries not to dwell on it too much, because even if Keith did feel the same, and he doesn’t even know if he does, they have no time to indulge in such fantasies.

Keith revs the engine again, a signal that he’s about to further up their speed, and Shiro braces himself, tightening his grip around Keith’s chest. A stray lock of Keith’s mullet billows in the wind, tapping repeatedly against Shiro’s nose.

Were it anyone else, this type of stunt would be absolutely insane. But with Keith it’s different...Somehow, even when they’re zipping down the road at 20 miles over the speed limit, Shiro feels this blissful sense of calm. Some of the more senior officers like to call Keith hot-headed, others cocky and even arrogant. And while it’s true the junior officer has quite a few areas that could use some work, Shiro has never felt so comfortable entrusting his life in another’s hands. Keith relies on his laser sharp instinct, emitting this refreshingly genuine air of confidence. Shiro has full faith that, if properly cultivated, Keith’s talent will soon surpass his own.

Even if Keith doesn’t have quite the same faith in himself.

Keith admires Shiro, idolizes him even. He’s always looking to Shiro for a nod of approval, unabashedly following his every command. Because in Keith’s eyes, Shiro is _flawless_. But, sometimes Shiro wonders what will happen once the spell is broken and Keith sees him for what he really is. When Keith realizes Shiro isn’t perfect.

He’s nowhere near perfect.

*

*

They take a sudden, sharp turn onto 6th street, zooming down the road until they come across a club glistening with a myriad of neon lights. Zombies are drawn to the bright lights like moths, and it’s not uncommon for them to congregate around clubs and bars. 6th street, the hub of the city’s nightlife, is a common target.

Keith and Shiro are just in time to witness a zombie gnaw a chunk off the orange neon sign resting precariously above the club. Sparks fly as the sign clatters to the ground. A couple other zombies huddle near the fallen sign, inspecting its parts.

Dangerous as they are, Zombies aren’t necessarily _evil_. They just lack a moral compass - like toddlers. Well, giant super strong toddlers with a penchant for the taste of human flesh. However, perhaps things would be easier if they _were_ evil, Shiro finds himself thinking as he locks eyes with a particularly young looking zombie. She couldn’t have been more than 11 when she was zombified. He’d have no qualms about harming her if zombies were filled with malicious intent. But they aren’t, and he wavers. His mind drifts to her family, her friends, what they must be going through. He wonders if she can recall any of her former life...

In his brief moment of hesitation he doesn’t notice another zombie come in close. It’s the same one that was just momentarily chowing down on the club’s sign, presumably their leader. There isn’t enough time for Shiro to draw his weapon, and there certainly isn’t enough time for him to run. The zombie smacks him hard across the arm, sending him skidding across the sidewalk. As the zombie gears up for a second punch, Shiro fumbles for his weapon, mentally berating himself for acting so careless. _Patience yields focus_ has become almost like his catchphrase with the number of times he’s called Keith out on losing his cool in the middle of battle. And yet, here he is, senior officer Shirogane Takashi letting his emotions get the better of him at the worst probable time.

A dash of red dances in the corner of his eye, and before Shiro can fully process what’s happening, the zombie collapses to the ground. Suddenly Keith is there by his side, checking him over for any signs of damage. Shiro will forever be in awe at how Keith somehow manages to appear by his side at exactly the right moments.

“Shiro, you okay?” Keith tenderly strokes a rip in Shiro’s sleeve where the zombie’s claw nicked his arm.  

“It’s just a scratch,” Shiro smiles, attempting to wipe the worry off Keith’s face. Besides the small gash peeking out of his sleeve, it doesn’t look like damage is too terrible.

“You should still get it looked at. Just in case.” Keith says, obviously unconvinced. He hasn’t moved his hand from Shiro’s arm, as if he’s worried Shiro will shrivel up and disappear if he lets go.

For now, the zombie raid has been thwarted. With their leader felled, the other zombies slowly regress into the shadows, and Keith and Shiro start their trek back to Keith’s bike. (Keith concealed it in some bushes a little ways from the club, an attempt to try and protect his ‘baby’ from getting dinged up in the fight).

As they walk, Shiro feels a tingling sensation zing up his arm. It’s like a little tickle, hardly noticeable if he doesn’t focus on it. _It’s probably nothing_ , he thinks, trying to push it out of his mind.

Only a few seconds pass before Keith turns to him again, asking, “You _sure_ you’re okay?” Keith’s eyes zero in on Shiro’s arm, and Shiro realizes he’s been unconsciously scratching it on and off. His arm feels a lot itchier than he remembered... and was it always stinging like this? Shiro tells himself he’s being paranoid, that they were careful, that the zombie just barely grazed his arm. Still, it’s difficult to quell another very real possibility lingering in his mind.

He manages to choke out a, “Yes Keith, I’m fine,” in what he hopes is a convincingly calm tone. Shiro focuses on moving forward, afraid of what he might find if he looks down. But, even without looking, he has a sinking feeling he knows exactly what’s happening to him. It’s impossible to ignore the incessant itching, or the heat radiating off his arm, as if threatening to singe through the remainders of his shirt. Shiro grits his teeth, inhaling sharply. He can’t let Keith see him like this, small and vulnerable, the antithesis of the leader he so much admires.  

By the time they reached Keith’s motorcycle, the painful itching is so intense, Shiro has to clamp down on bottom lip to keep from crying out. Although he’s successful in not emitting even the smallest peep, he can’t hide his discomfort from the junior officer who’s been watching him like a hawk this entire time.

Keith’s tugging his sleeve, pulling him under the dim street light. Shiro flinches at Keith’s gasp, ] vision tunneling as he looks down to see some type of iridescent purple liquid oozing from his wound. His flesh is starting to shrivel up like a raisin wherever the liquid touches-- which is nearly his entire arm by this point.

It’s the worst case scenario.

Well _almost_ the worst case scenario, Shiro decides. The absolute worst case scenario would be if Shiro zombified Keith.

Keith inches closer, tearing a piece of Shiro’s tattered shirt with his knife. A wave of fear jolts through Shiro as he realizes that worst case scenario might not be so far from reality. Watching Keith wrap the cloth around his wound, all Shiro can focus on is how Keith needs to get away from him. He needs to escape. Run before it’s too late, before Shiro loses control and can’t tell the difference between him and tonight’s dinner.

“Leave me and go.”

“No, I’m not leaving you!”

“Keith, listen to me, just--”

Shiro wheezes as a sharp pain rips through his chest. It feels like somethings gripping his lungs, slowly squeezing the air out of them. His hands are shaking, heart pounding wildly. He tries to stay calm and just _breathe_ , but that only makes makes him hack up an unsightly glob of that same purple fluid.

Shiro’s overcome with a dizzying nausea. The world spins. The ground’s getting closer and closer and--Shiro belatedly realizes he's falling. His legs wobble underneath him like two unruly slabs of jello. His trembling arms are no help either. He braces himself for the impact with the pavement--

And then everything stops.

Instead of the expected smack against cold hard pavement, he’s enveloped in two warm, strong arms. Keith tightens his grip around Shiro’s shoulders, steadying him. Shiro melts at the touch.Yet again, Keith saved him.

“I’m not leaving you.” Keith repeats, his voice is gentle, yet firm and assuring. Keith the one person Shiro wants by his side at a time like this. The one person whose presence alone is enough to make him believe everything is going to be okay.

Paradoxically, Keith is also the one person Shiro desperately wants to escape before he loses his sense of self. Shiro’s mind screams to push Keith away, to tell him to run, just to _do_ something. But, his body won’t budge. The words won’t come out. He’s only successful in erupting into another coughing fit.

But, Keith’s hell bent on staying, and it probably wouldn’t make a difference whether Shiro warned him or not. Arm still wound snuggly around Shiro, Keith slowly guides him to the bike. When it quickly becomes apparent that Shiro lacks the energy to sit up on the bike himself, Keith helps Shiro drape himself over his lap. Shiro’s legs dangle off the side of the bike, nearly touching the ground. It likely looks absolutely ridiculous, but that’s honestly the least of his worries right now.

“You’re going to be fine” Keith whispers, combing his fingers through Shiro’s hair, “It’s going to be okay.”

Shiro’s fading fast, hanging on by only a thread. The gentle lull of Keith’s voice is the last thing on his mind before he slips unconscious.  

*

*

Shiro wakes up, brain foggy and unsure of which of the memories spinning in his head are real and which he dreamt up. He doesn’t recognize this room, and he panics, thinking the zombies captured him and took him to their secret lair. His eyes adjust to the light, and he spots a familiar red jacket hanging off the door. His first thought is that the zombies got Keith too, but he spots more of Keith’s things scattered around the room; Keith’s bag is slung over the back of a chair, there’s a framed photo of the two of them on the desk... The more rational part of his brain kicks in, and it hits him.

  _He’s in Keith’s room._

He’s nauseous, light-headed, and unsure of how long he’s been out. He probably should be a lot more anxious than he is, but the idea of being in _Keith’s_ _room_ sends a wave of giddiness through him. They see each other a lot outside of work, but only in public venues. They’d never actually ventured into the unknown territory of visiting each other’s respective places.

Shiro closes his eyes, letting it all soak in. _Keith’s room_ , his mind hums, _I’m in Keith’s room_.

The door creaks open. There’s a shuffle of footsteps, the clink of a glass, a hand massaging it’s way through his hair... Even before he opens his eyes, Shiro knows it’s him.

“Keith.”

Keith freezes, staring at Shiro in shock, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Dark circles and tired lines hover around Keith’s eyes. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. Shiro feels immediately bad, realizing he’s currently occupying Keith’s one and only bed.

Keith pinches himself on the cheek, eyes still wide in astonishment as the gears click into place. Suddenly, he’s leaping up from his spot on the floor, gripping Shiro by the shoulders. “You’re—you’re awake!” The way he says it makes Shiro think he’s been out a lot longer than one night.

“You were pretty out of it when the doctors released you, and my apartment’s a lot closer to the hospital. “I, um, I hope it’s okay.” Keith pulls away, kneeling next to the bed.  

_Of course it’s okay. It’s better than okay,_ Shiro thinks, and he’s about to tell Keith just that when his eye catches something on Keith’s desk. A bottle of prescription painkillers. Strong. Strong enough to make someone feel numb, loopy, and even to help them forget some type of traumatic incident. Shiro swallows thickly, squinting at the name scrawled on the front of the bottle; Shirogane Takashi. Puzzling together the pieces floating in his brain, Shiro’s starting to get an idea of just what happened while he was out.

“Right, I came in here to give you your painkillers,” Keith says, following Shiro’s gaze to the bottle on his desk. He pops a giant pill out of the bottle and hands it to Shiro along with the glass of water he brought in earlier.  

Shiro extends a hand to accept the water and painkillers. And that’s when he sees it. His arm, or at least what once was his arm, is coated in a brownish-green hue. Memories of the purple ooze swim in his mind, he can feel it surging through his veins, singeing his skin. Shiro quickly recoils his hand, sloshing some of the water out of the glass.

Keith lifts the glass out of Shiro’s hand and sets it on his desk, not blinking an eye when his fingers brush Shiro’s zombified ones. Keith takes Shiro’s hand in his own, tracing circles on Shiro’s knuckles with his thumb.

“I’m so sorry Shiro,” Keith squeezes his hand, “The doctors were able to stop the virus from spreading, but they couldn’t salvage your arm.”

An odd sense of relief washes over Shiro at the revelation that he can’t spread the virus to Keith. If his arm singes and stings for the rest of his life, he’ll manage. But, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hurt Keith.

“It’s good to have you back,” Keith whispers, voice trembling slightly as he moves to rest his head on Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro watches Keith’s façade of calm composure start to crumble, the emotions carefully kept locked in tumbling out.

“It’s good to be back,” Shiro mumbles into Keith’s hair, pulling him close. He’s spent all this time worrying about Keith getting hurt, yet failed to notice how much pain Keith was already in emotionally.

Keith’s head molds perfectly into the crook of Shiro’s neck, as if it were meant especially for him. Save for their motorcycle adventures, this is the closest they’ve ever been. Shiro’s always been hesitant in displaying this level of intimacy, not wanting to sour their professional relationship. Or at least that’s what he’s always told himself. A warm fuzzy feeling stirs in Shiro’s chest as Keith nestles closer, and he realizes that, perhaps subconsciously he was also afraid. Afraid of the changes the closeness would inevitably bring to their relationship. Afraid revealing too much of himself might accidentally push Keith away rather than bring them closer.

Shiro closes his eyes, concentrating on the way Keith’s gentle breath tickles his cheek. Even after seeing Shiro at his most vulnerable, Keith still stands steadfast by his side, gazing up at him as if he’s the brightest star in the sky.


End file.
